


Avant-Garde

by sarken



Category: Third Watch
Genre: Episode: Castles of Sand, F/F, Femslash, Lesbian Character, Minor Character(s), Queer Character, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-12
Updated: 2005-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Claire Henley ("Castles of Sand") appears on Faith's doorstep, Faith believes she can finally accept Claire as something more than a friend. But when Bosco discovers their relationship, Faith drives a wedge between herself and Claire by insisting she still identifies as straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avant-Garde

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who may have forgotten, Claire Henley is from the fourth season episode "Castles of Sand." Thanks go to Amber for the beta.

For twelve hours, it rained in drizzles and downpours. Steam rose from the cooling blacktop and blood washed away from the sidewalks, into the sewer, but no amount of water could wash it from Faith's memory.

"You okay over there?" The car splashed through a rain-filled pothole and Bosco caught Faith's eye in the rearview mirror.

She saw red blotches when she rubbed her eyes. "I will be."

He made a right at the light, and Faith's apartment came into view. "Yeah? 'Cause I can--"

"Bos," she said, her fingers already wrapped around the door handle, "it was a tough case, a long day, and a lot of blood, all right? Don't worry about it."

He didn't believe her, but he stopped the car and watched her get out. "See you tomorrow," he said, not at all surprised when she didn't answer. Head down, she walked slowly toward the building. She didn't turn around when Bosco pulled away.

The stairwell was hot and humid despite its darkness, and Faith felt exhausted by the time she unlocked her door. After being tightly sealed for half the day, the apartment was no cooler than the stairs.

Faith dropped her blazer onto the floor as she walked toward the air conditioner that rested in the window. Only the lowest setting worked on the old machine, and it gurgled and moaned before spitting out a stream of air. Faith's eyes closed as the cool air hit her skin, but it wasn't enough. She pulled her camisole over her head and tossed it over her shoulder, toward the couch. Yawning, she listened to the metallic plink of raindrops hitting the air conditioner. Their rhythm was soon interrupted by a knock on the door.

Bosco, she thought, putting on her blazer before answering the door. His concern would have been touching if it weren't annoying and selfish. He had spent the day looking for excitement and found none, so he would inevitably have to invent it before he could go to bed. Maurice Boscorelli, M.D., was here to diagnose Faith with some life-threatening illness so he could occupy himself with worrying for the next sixteen hours. That was Bosco, the occasional vicarious hypochondriac. Bullets couldn't touch him, but Faith was going to die because she had gotten sick at a crime scene.

A joke about playing doctor died on Faith's lips when she opened the door.

Claire, holding a duffle bag in hand, smiled. "Faith Yokas," she said, alluding to her greeting from two years ago.

"It's, uh, it's Mitchell now. Again." Seeing Claire's disappointment at making the same mistake twice, Faith shrugged. "A lot can happen in two years. Stone turning to sand, for one thing. Erosion happens a lot faster than they say."

Claire's smile returned, but now it was sad. "But sand doesn't turn to stone. I hoped that it would, but it turned out I just built my castle a little further from the water's edge this time."

"What happened?" Faith let herself fall against the doorframe. The edge dug into her shoulder painfully, but she did not move. Exhaustion and curiosity overshadowed the pain. "Did you go back to Audrey?"

"Her name wasn't Audrey," Claire snapped. She had spent two years trying to tell herself that same thing. "It was Amy. This time, it was Amy."

Faith waved a hand at Claire's wrists. "Looks like Audrey."

Frowning, Claire looked at her wrists. In the darkness, she couldn't see the bruises even as the weight of her duffle bag reminded her of their existence. "How--"

"I'm a cop, Claire. It's my job to notice these things." She pushed herself away from the wall. "Now tell me what happened."

Claire shrugged. "I think you know already. Amy and Audrey. They start the same and end the same."

"So you need somewhere to stay." There was, perhaps, the slightest hint of annoyance in Faith's tone. Claire didn't give straight answers. She had always been fond of metaphors and allusions to her past; she could only talk about her life in abstracts. To her, the past didn't matter. For Faith, it felt like all there was.

Dripping strands of hair hung over Claire's face, not quite concealing the darkness beneath her eyes. Whether the purplish coloring was the result of sleep deprivation or a clenched fist, Faith couldn't tell, but at that moment, the answer didn't matter so much as the question. That combined with the look in Claire's eyes convinced Faith, and she sighed softly before stepping aside. "Fine. You can stay here."

Claire stepped past Faith and into the apartment, taking in the shadows and silhouettes before her: a coffee table, a worn out chair, a hastily discarded article of clothing by the couch. It felt like someone's hotel room rather than someone's home. A false compliment on her tongue, Claire turned to Faith and found her leaning against the door, hands clasped loosely in front of her.

"So," Faith said, twisting her hands together. She meant for the word to trail off, but it ended abruptly and echoed in the emptiness of the apartment.

Claire dropped her duffle bag onto the floor and took a step toward Faith. "I missed you so much," she said, reaching out and brushing her fingers across Faith's lips. The past two years had been as long as the first fifteen.

Faith's eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise, but when she reached up, it was to join her hand with Claire's. She pressed their clasped hands against her cheek. "God," she said with a half laugh, not sure what they were doing.

Claire wove their fingers together and leaned in, softly kissing Faith. She barely pulled away before whispering, "Everything happens for a reason."

Faith remembered standing in a studio, taking off her clothes as Claire watched. She remembered stretching across a bed and Claire arranging the sheets around her; she remembered shifting so slightly to feel the accidental touches of Claire's hand. She remembered the moment Claire realized it was intentional, and she remembered never returning, afraid of what it could mean.

"I don't care if this has a reason."

-

Faith dressed in front of the mirror, watching Claire's reflection rather than her own. Smiling, Faith watched as Claire stretched her arms above her head and curled her fingertips around the edge of the headboard. With every movement, the sheet slid further down Claire's body.

"I never knew beat cops had to get dressed up for work," Claire said, watching as Faith buttoned her slacks and ran her hands along her sides.

"I'm a homicide detective now." Faith reached for her brush, reluctantly shifting her focus to her own reflection as she pulled the brush through her hair. "No more unflattering uniforms."

"You looked good in the uniform."

Faith laughed and walked over to the bed, the hairbrush still in her hand. She crawled onto the mattress and straddled Claire, kneeling over Claire's legs. "Never lie to a cop," she warned, teasingly wagging the brush's handle at Claire.

Claire looked up at Faith, her eyes dancing. Gone were the dark circles from the previous night. Beneath the sheets, Claire bent her knee, pressing her leg between Faith's thighs. "Are you going to arrest me, Detective?" she asked, increasing the pressure. "Or just smack me around a bit with your nightstick?"

Eyes closed as she enjoyed Claire's touch, Faith absently corrected her. "Detectives don't carry nightsticks."

"Then you won't need this," Claire said, snatching the brush from Faith's hand and tossing it onto the floor. It slid across the hardwood and stopped near the vanity, but neither woman noticed.

Clutching the hem of Faith's shirt, Claire pulled it up and over Faith's head. She dropped the shirt over the side of bed and reached for the waistband of Faith's pants.

The pants were halfway off Faith's hips when she heard it, a sound that could be nothing other than Bosco pounding his fist against her apartment door. "Shit," Faith groaned, her lips against Claire's neck.

"Ignore it." Claire rested her hands at Faith's waist, but they fell back to her sides as Faith climbed off the bed. Frustrated, Claire clenched her hands around fistfuls of the sheet as she watched Faith button her pants. "C'mon, Faith."

"I'm coming," Faith hollered, ignoring Claire's plea and quickly looking around for her shirt. Not seeing it, Faith swore under her breath and flung open the closet, grabbing the first shirt within reach. She slid her arms into the blouse's long sleeves as she walked barefoot down the hall.

Holding the shirt closed with one hand, Faith opened the door. "You're early," she said, hoping Bosco didn't pick up on her annoyance or her heavy breathing.

"I thought you might wanna grab some coffee before shift," he responded with a shrug. For a cop, observation had never been one of Bosco's strong points.

Faith sighed. The coffee she could go for, but not the conversation that would accompany it as surely as creamers and sugar packets. "Yeah, okay," she said reluctantly, closing her eyes and bringing her hand to her forehead. She felt a headache building and hoped she had a bottle of ibuprofen in her desk. "You're buying, right?"

His silence alarmed her, and her eyelids flew open. "Bos?"

Bosco's sights were fixed on something over her shoulder, and with a sinking feeling in her gut, Faith knew. She knew he was staring into the bedroom through the door she hadn't shut; she knew he was trying to tell himself that the clothes on the floor and the naked woman in the bed couldn't possibly mean what he thought.

"Bos, I--"

"Don't," he interrupted, his gaze snapping back to Faith. The look didn't burn into her; Bosco's looks had never done that. It applied a vise-like pressure, cranking up her headache and making her wonder just how many pills she could swallow before Jelly gave her a Discovery Channel lecture on the damage she was doing to her body. "Don't even bother lying to me. I'll be in the car. Come out whenever the hell you're ready."

-

Faith didn't notice the traffic light changing to red until she felt the brakes push her back into the seat. She looked up, quickly turning her head toward the window when her eyes met Bosco's in the mirror.

The instant of eye contact was enough to get Bosco started. "Don't you think you're taking this too far?"

"What, the silence? You're the one who didn't want to hear what I had to say."

"Not that. This whole divorce thing." He turned on the radio and the volume of the hard rock station only served to enforce the idea that Bosco had no intention of listening. He wanted to be the one talking, listing his own opinions and ignoring hers. "I'm just saying, not all men are Fred."

She leaned across the seat and turned the radio off; the pounding of the bass was only adding to her headache. "You think I slept with Claire because my ex-husband's an asshole? That's great, Bosco." At this rate, there wouldn't be enough Motrin in all of Manhattan.

"Hey, I was listening to that," he said, turning the radio back on. He didn't stop to listen to the music or Faith's protests before continuing with, "So, you mean it's not Fred and you're really a lesbian? You were just hiding so deep in the closet that you were married for, what, fifteen years?"

"I'm not a lesbian." Faith didn't raise her voice over the music. If Bosco wanted to hear what she had to say, which Faith doubted, he could turn the volume down.

"You're screwing a chick, Faith! You're sure as hell not straight." Either her response had been predictable, or Bosco's hearing was better than Faith thought. The latter was unlikely given the earsplitting volume at which he listened to music. "Are you bi?"

"No." She let her head fall back against the headrest and shut her eyes. "No, Bosco, I'm not bi."

The light turned green and he stepped on the accelerator. "You know, you coulda just told me you were a lesbian."

Faith pressed her hand to her forehead and turned her head toward Bosco, not opening her eyes. "Yeah, because you're taking it so well."

"Well, maybe if you hadn't lied to me about it--"

"All right," she interrupted, sitting up and opening her eyes. She shut the radio off. "Okay, you're gonna listen to me now, Bosco: I'm not gay. It was only Claire, and it was only last night. It was almost once before that, but I chickened out. I ran away. This time it could be Claire who runs away. I could get home tonight and she could be gone for another two years or another fifteen. It isn't a lifestyle and it's sure as hell not an identity. Not for me. It's just Claire, and it's complicated."

"Whatever." He hit the turn signal an instant before making a tight turn, and the taxi behind them honked.

"Where the hell are we going?" Faith demanded, looking over her shoulder at the street they should have been on, the street that would intersect with Arthur Boulevard after three more blocks. All she wanted was to be at work with her quiet office and her drugs. That was all.

"To get your coffee." He double parked next to a Toyota and slammed the door when he got out. Halfway between the car and the doughnut shop, he turned around and gestured for Faith to roll down the window. "Want a doughnut? Chocolate glazed?" The words came out quickly, like he might change his mind any second.

"How about a bagel?" she called back, resting her arm on the door and smiling. "And only if you're buying."

"I'm pissed at you, you know. I don't care if you starve."

Faith shook her head in amusement and waved him off. She stared at him through the shop window, shifting from one foot to the other as he stood in line. When he stepped up to the counter, he glanced back at Faith. She offered him a tight but genuine smile and watched him reach into his back pocket for his wallet.

Seeing the coffee cups stacked one atop the other and the white paper bag clutched tightly in his hand, Faith leaned across the seat and swung open the driver's door. He slid into the car, passing Faith the bag and a coffee as he did so. "There's cream cheese in there, too," he told her, nodding at the bag. "Best bagels in Manhattan, or so the guy at the counter told me. For what I paid, it better be."

-

The elevator's heavy doors clunked open and Faith stepped out into the hallway. She didn't make a habit of taking the elevator to her third floor apartment; in fact, she hated that people could be so lazy and selfish when there were ten floors above them. Tonight, though, she was in a hurry. She would go back to using the stairs tomorrow. She walked quickly down the corridor, her key held at the ready in between her thumb and index finger.

Opening the door revealed the same silent, dark heat that had welcomed her home each night since the end of May. "See?" Faith said to the empty room, slamming the door behind her. She tossed her keys onto the hall table. "Just like every other night." She walked down the hall, hoping Claire had changed the sheets before continuing their tradition of vanishing acts. The last thing Faith wanted was to collapse onto her bed and be greeted with the smells of sex and perfume. She just wanted to sleep until she could wake up and throw herself into her work, ignoring everything from the past twenty-four hours.

She walked into the bedroom and saw Claire sleeping in the middle of the bed. With something between a sigh and a growl, Faith took several steps across the wooden floor, purposefully letting her heeled boots bang loudly against the panels. Fred had been fond of telling her how her clomping woke him up every night.

Claire rolled over and opened her eyes. She brushed her curly hair out of her eyes as she sat up.

"I woke you up." Faith chose a statement of fact rather than a phony apology or the words she wanted to say. (Good, you deserve it. You couldn't have turned a light on, written a note, stayed awake? It would have killed you?)

"How was work?" Claire moved to one side of the bed and rested a hand on the space next to her, inviting Faith to join her.

Faith sat on the bed, her back to Claire. She took her thumbnail between her teeth as she remembered the bloody crime scene she had stood at hours ago. She thought about the suspect who had eluded them yet again, and how tomorrow would be the same. She shrugged and said lightly, "Bosco thinks I'm a lesbian."

"Yeah, I saw him out there this afternoon," Claire said, her eyes going to the bedroom's second door. Faith had closed it before leaving for work. "He has a problem with it?"

Faith bent over to slip off her shoes. The ends of her hair brushed against the floor. "He was pissed that I didn't tell him," she said, pulling down the zippers on her boots, "but he bought me coffee and a bagel, so I think things are okay with us now that he knows I wasn't lying."

Claire stared at the strip of skin that Faith's position exposed. "Lying?" Her tone was curious with a trace of annoyance.

"When I told him I wasn't gay." Faith kicked her shoes off and sat up, pushing her hair back. "He had himself convinced that I was gay or bi or something just because you and I slept together."

"You're not gay." The annoyance in Claire's voice increased exponentially and she crossed her arms. "So what does that make me, your little sexual experiment? You're supposed to get that out of your system in college."

Faith turned to face Claire. She shook her head slowly. "No, Claire, it's not like that. I love you, and I really enjoyed what we did last night. But I'm not gay. How can I be? I was married; I have two kids. Hell, I have a crush on George Clooney." She rested a hand on Claire's leg and looked into her eyes. "None of that makes you an experiment or makes how I feel about you any less real. It scared the hell out of me when I came home and thought you'd left, but that doesn't make me gay."

"I can't do this, Faith." Claire moved so Faith's hand was no longer touching her leg. Pulling her legs up to her chest, Claire said, "I can't have sex with you at night and then wake up and listen to you defend your heterosexuality to anyone who points out that you're sleeping with a woman. You can't go to bed with me and then wake up straight. It doesn't work that way. It's one thing to be in the closet, but you're in denial. I can't sit around and wonder if today's the day you're going to decide your charade is too much trouble and dump me for some guy just so you can stop being a misfit."

Faith closed her eyes as she said, "I wouldn't do that."

"That's not good enough for me." Claire swung her legs over the side of the bed and rested her palms flat against the mattress, ready to flee.

"'I love you' isn't good enough for you?" Faith asked incredulously. It hadn't been enough for Fred, either, the day he had stormed out of the diner and left her sitting there. "I'm not good enough for you because I don't call myself a lesbian and walk around with a Pride pin stuck to my purse? What do you want from me, Claire? You want me to pretend to be something I'm not just so you can be more comfortable sleeping with me?"

Claire pushed herself off the bed and turned around to face Faith. Claire looked down at her with sad eyes. "No, Faith. I want you to stop pretending to be something you aren't just because you're uncomfortable sleeping with me." She offered a weak smile and reached out to stroke Faith's hair. "Where are the blankets?"

Faith looked at the floor and breathed in deeply to push down all the things she wanted to say. "Don't sleep on the couch, Claire. You think you're punishing someone else, but you're just gonna wake up sore as hell, realizing you only punished yourself. Take it from someone who knows." Faith lifted her feet onto the bed. "It's a big bed. We don't have to touch each other."

"Do you really think that's going to work?" Claire already knew the answer.

"In the hall closet, the second shelf from the bottom. There's a pillow on the top shelf." Faith waited until Claire was out of the room to mumble, "Goodnight." She turned onto her side, slipping her hands beneath the pillow and closing her eyes.

-

Arms crossed, Faith stood outside the interrogation room. She watched through the one-way glass as Jelly questioned the suspect Bosco had captured and hand-delivered to them. The man answered Jelly's questions quickly, but he never made eye contact. Turning to Bosco, who leaned against the wall beside her, Faith said, "This is our guy."

Bosco smirked. "Like there was any doubt." He pushed away from the wall and said, "Guess I'll get back out there. Back to the excitement."

"What, this isn't exciting?" Faith indicated the interrogation room with a tilt of her head.

"Too much talk," Bosco threw over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs. He made it down half a flight before stopping dead. "Yokas?"

Faith had gone back to watching the interrogation, her head cocked slightly as she listened for a hole in the suspect's alibi. "What?" she asked, sounding disinterested in whatever Bosco had to say.

"That chick is here." His tone was somewhere between alarmed and confused as he watched the blond approach the front desk. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but he knew she was asking for Faith. There was no other reason for her to be at the station.

"What chick?" Faith knew she had missed something important in the interrogation when Jelly looked up at his side of the one-way and nodded slightly at her.

"The one you're not queer for."

"Shit," Faith blurted out, spinning toward the steps so fast she became dizzy. The last time her personal life had visited her at work, Fred had served her with divorce papers. "How does she look?" Maybe Fred had been right about her needing to quit the job.

Bosco walked up a few steps. "She doesn't look like she's here for the good kind of girl-on-girl action, no," he answered, and Faith looked around to make sure no one had heard. "Did we have a fight?" He raised an eyebrow.

Faith bit her lip. "A misunderstanding, maybe, or a difference of opinion. I wouldn't call it a fight." Hearing Claire's footsteps as she climbed the stairs, Faith felt her heart rate increase. "Okay, yes, we had a fight. It was like the one you and I had, and I think maybe I was supposed to buy her a bagel. Or possibly something in a rainbow motif for myself."

Bosco frowned, not quite following what she meant. "I'll be in here, trying not to overhear, so keep your voice down, would you?" he said, jerking his thumb toward the homicide office. He disappeared inside, closing the door partway.

Faith plastered a smile on her face that felt about as sincere as the smile the suspect had given to Jelly. "Hey," she said once Claire reached the top of the steps. "What's up?"

"I'm leaving," Claire said, "unless you give me a reason to stay."

"Leaving?" Faith repeated. "You just--"

Claire didn't let her finish the joke, for which Faith was grateful. It sounded forced even to her own ears.

"I'm serious, Faith," Claire said, stepping toward Faith. "You can walk me downstairs and kiss me goodbye in front of your coworkers, or you can just watch me leave. I won't put myself through this, not after Audrey and Amy."

Faith narrowed her eyes. "Don't you dare compare me to them. I'd never do that to you." Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper and she added, "I love you, Claire."

"Then you're going to follow me downstairs," she stated, knowing it was a lie. Seeing the expression Faith wore, Claire shook her head. Her voice became sad, almost wistful just as it had the night before. "Yeah, I didn't think so, either. I had to take the chance, though." She turned around walked toward the steps.

"Claire," Faith called, surprised by her belief that Claire would turn around. She knew Claire better than that, knew about the stubborn streak equal to hers. "Claire, please don't do this." As badly as she wanted Claire to stay, Faith's feet remained rooted to the floor. She couldn't follow Claire down the steps. "Damn it," Faith said to herself, feeling like she was choking on the words. She turned away from the steps and walked into her office.

Bosco was sitting at Faith's desk, a sympathetic look on his face that clashed with his cocky body language. His feet rested on a stack of reports and his hands were behind his head, his elbows pointing outward. "You can still go after her," he said softly, placing his feet on the floor and dropping his arms to his sides.

Faith shook her head and looked away. She licked her lips that had gone dry in the short walk to her office. "I can't give her what she wants."

"There's always next time," Bosco said, standing and walking toward her. He would have rested a hand on her arm if they were the kind of friends who did that. They weren't, so instead he kept walking toward the door. "You'll see her again," he said, his hand on the doorknob.

"Yeah, but when? Two years or fifteen?" She glanced toward the ceiling, fighting the tears that were forming in her eyes. She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Maybe I'll be ready in fifteen."

"Maybe you'll be ready in two. And maybe you'll be the one to find her."

"Maybe." Faith ran a hand across her face, wiping the wetness from her eyes. She nodded and smiled tightly. "That'd be nice."

:end:


End file.
